


Blood Pact

by Traxits



Category: Dragon Age Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mage and an apprentice begin as teacher and student, evolve into something so much more, and just as suddenly drift apart.  Jealousy is an ugly beast, however, and something as innocent as concern is quickly warped into a twisted obsession.  Trapped in the tower, with no where to run, one of the two must yield.  ON HIATUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"I do not understand why we should subject ourselves to this--this... barbarism. We could simply leave. Templars are not necessary to keep us in line. If we isolate ourselves--"

"And do what? Live as animals in the wilds? Will you keep home in a filthy cave then, lit by your magic to keep you warm?" The senior enchanter laughed, the mockery in his voice clear. "You could no more live there than you could overpower a templar. We need the society around ourselves to keep us from drifting--"

"Gentlemen," the voice that broke in was calm, perhaps even slightly amused. "Niall," the newcomer murmured, looking down quickly as both mages turned to face him, "I needed you to look over my proposal. You said you would before I turned it in."

"Of course." The Isolationist looked back to meet the older mage's gaze easily. "You must excuse me, senior enchanter...I have matters to attend to."

"By all means." Derision still laced the voice.

The mage brushed past him, grabbing his apprentice's elbow on the way out to drag him out of the suddenly oppressive library. Living in such close quarters, with no place to escape to, forced civility was a necessity. If mages would simply grow a backbone and leave, the tower wouldn't be required at all. However, as he was rapidly learning, convincing anyone that change could be a good thing was fighting a losing battle.

His grip on his companion relaxed as he slowed his walk. Getting out of the room was doing him some sort of good, because he could at least breath more easily now. "Thank you," he said softly, not looking at the apprentice trailing behind him. There was no proposal for him to look at; it was simply a predetermined phrase used to extract the Isolationist when he got in over his head arguing his policies and beliefs with the senior enchanters. It happened frequently, and after getting into trouble for coming to blows with someone, the younger man had come up with the idea.

It was something that they were _both _thankful for.

Upon reaching a quiet room, Niall pushed the younger man into it, taking care to shut the door as he followed him in. Nearly breathless with anticipation, he pulled his partner close, his fingers burying themselves into dark hair. Something about the arguments made the two of them ridiculously attracted to each other, sparked an insatiable burn that only touch seemed to assuage. It was destructive, out of hand.

He felt hands on his shoulders, and he pulled back to see grey eyes staring up at him under a thick veil of lashes. His hand lifted to brush the backs of his fingers against the side of the face he had come to associate with lust and all of the heat that was building inside of him. For a heartbeat, the two stared at each other, just _feeling_ the tender moment that wrapped itself around them, that stroked and teased their skin until they positively _ached_ to touch again.

Then breathless whispers fell from those lips, and Niall captured them, drinking in as readily as the younger man gave them. Clothes parted and robes were pushed up, and then he was lifting those pale thighs, his fingers stroking the tender inner flesh. He kept his mouth on the other man's; there could be nothing to attract attention to the two of them. No one knew; no one, with the possible exception of Irving, _would _know.

Slow, drugging kisses belied the heat and speed beginning to consume both men, and when Niall pulled back, it was only to whisper softly, "Jowan," over the other man's ear. Taking the soft flesh of the lobe into his mouth, he slid his tongue over it before he bit down sharply. Tasted a sharp tang of blood. Jowan squirmed against him, rubbing against him, encouraging him as he gasped at the feel of such harsh treatment. He loved every moment of it.

Before the apprentice could ask again, a vial was in Niall's hands, and then oiled fingers were _inside_, stroking and teasing and stretching. A shuddering whimper escaped into the room, and they stilled for only a moment to make sure no one had heard. Then something larger than fingers pushed into the younger man.

They stayed like that for a moment, apprentice's knees hooked over mentor's elbows, foreheads pressed against each other, both gasping for breath. Then movement started. What had started as out of control as a wildfire and tempered into something akin to lava flow. Slow and steady with momentous repercussions. Both of them were gasping, whispering nothing to each other, only noises that each of them fed off of.

Niall pressed closer, pressing Jowan against the wall more to help hold off his weight as his own strength began to fade. The closer he got, the more he bit down on moans, and when a noise escaped his partner, he captured that mouth with his own. Heat consumed them both, and with a stifled cry, he exploded, his world shattering into the heat and tightness surrounding him. There was a moment of hesitation as he recovered his sanity.

Then he smoothly lowered those pale legs, dropping to his knees in one smooth motion. He took Jowan into his mouth, finishing him easily, drinking him until nothing was left. Only when they were both recovered did he move away from the apprentice, shooting him a dark look of longing. It was shocking how no matter how many times he took and took, nothing ever seemed to be enough. Grey eyes darted away from his own, and he smiled to himself. Jowan, somehow, managed to be shy after that, and it was part of his charm.

They were wordless as Jowan slipped away first. Sitting in the dark for a moment, Niall drew a deep breath. It was one of the sweetest moments they'd had together. He listened to nothing for a few minutes, and then, once he'd decided enough time had passed, he straightened himself up and slipped out.


	2. Jowan: Secrets

For six months, they had 'dallied.' Whenever the two of them had a spare moment, they could be found, pressed against each other in the smallest of closets, Niall's hand over Jowan's mouth to keep the apprentice's moans from spilling out into the stone hallways. The relationship in and of itself wouldn't have been a problem, except for the simple fact that Jowan was just that: an apprentice. To make matters even worse, Jowan had a secret that he wasn't sharing with anyone-- least of all Niall.

He ducked into the narrow corridor, his best carefully casual expression on his face. He didn't attract the gazes of the templars, for which he was grateful. The last thing that he needed was to be caught on his way to this meeting, on his way to practice _blood magic_ with the slowly growing number of apprentices and mages who felt it was necessary.

They were promised freedom, sweet, out-of-reach freedom; promised lives away from the templars, from the chafing bonds of the Chantry. All they had to do was find a means of subduing their captors in case no one would listen to reason; to this end, all of them were practicing the most forbidden of all magic, the one magic that would get them killed on sight if anyone knew. To secure their freedom, each and every one of them became maleficarum.

It was a title that didn't sit well with Jowan, no matter how important it was that they break free. He didn't like it, didn't really care that he was becoming a stronger mage; it was still wrong, and he knew it. Oh, he dressed it up well enough: it was going to make him a better mage; it was for their _freedom_; it would impress Niall when he saw--

But no, Niall wasn't going to be impressed. He would be horrified, and Jowan knew that. The enchanter was firmly against blood magic, without the slightest inclination toward even a hypothetical discussion of it. He was as against it as he was for leaving society. Then again, Niall had many reasons for wanting to leave society, most of which had very little to do with his being a mage. At least, as little to do with that as was possible, considering their entire existences rolled around being mages.

He sighed as he entered the small room, warded with a suggestion to just keep walking (it affected everyone who didn't know the pass phrase: bound in blood and magic), and he smiled at the young woman who met him first. They exchanged salutes-- standard mage salute, cup each hand over an imaginary ball in the middle of your chest-- and she headed out as he ducked into the room. Several daggers were sitting on the table in the middle of the room, and a few mages-- never more than three at a time-- were already practicing, drawing their own blades down their arms or legs to release the blood necessary for the spells.

Jowan picked one of the discarded blades up, light glinted off of the blood still wet on it, and he drew his fingers over it, not _quite_ touching the shiny red fluid. It followed him, rolling down and off of the dagger into a ball that hovered just under his fingertips. For a moment, he let it, watched it as it floated an inch from his skin, and he sighed softly before he pointed a finger and trailed it around the edge of the blood. It spun, slowly, a macabre dancer in the air as it spilled out of its confined orb shape and into a loose constellation of tiny droplets.

"Impressive. You have always had a knack for this though, haven't you?"

His spine stiffened, and Jowan turned to see who was speaking. _Uldred_. There was something not quite right about the man, even if Jowan couldn't figure out what it was. The senior enchanter always seemed a little ... boastful, to the point that he even spoke about their group in front of others. Always in code, but still, it was dangerous. It could get them all killed faster than anything else.

"Senior Enchanter Uldred," his words were forced through a painful smile, and he returned his attention to the blood, which he carefully collected in a small urn. All of the spare blood was collected there, so as to reduce the sheer amount of cuts and nicks they all had to endure for their training. They needed the blood however, and some spells were harder to cast than others. Particularly anything involving demons. Those rituals often called for more blood than was in a single human body. Jowan didn't like those.

"We haven't seen you in several days, Jowan. I was beginning to _worry_." His dark eyebrows arched, and Jowan swallowed. His chest felt tight. He didn't like this game that the enchanters played either.

"Niall has been keeping me busy." His tone was strictly neutral. If Uldred ever knew how much he upset the apprentice, he would press his advantage. Jowan's best defense was to cower behind his mentor, no matter how childish it made him appear.

"I imagine he has." The grin on Uldred's face made Jowan's throat close for a moment. How much did the senior enchanter know? Would it matter? "In any case, it doesn't matter much. You should be due for your Harrowing soon, yes? You've been here for some time now."

"Yes, senior enchanter." Jowan bobbed his head, grateful for the excuse to look down. Niall had been hinting that it would be time soon for Jowan's Harrowing as well. Scared as he was, Jowan was quick to admit that he was looking forward to it. He was tired of being an apprentice, especially since every year he was, he got that much closer to the Rite of Tranquility. It was probably his greatest fear, being made Tranquil. Owain gave him the creeps.

Uldred's grin widened; Jowan could _feel_ it in the sound of his voice. "Well, better get on it soon then, hadn't they? Else they'll have to do _something else_ to you. We can't have apprentices as old as you for very long."

There was really nothing that Jowan could say. He hesitated, and then set the blade back on the table. He didn't feel like he could practice much; he was shaking too hard. "If you'll excuse me, senior enchanter," he whispered, his throat dry enough to _ache_, "I only came by to tell you that I might be another few days. Niall has me on a short enough leash right now."

Uldred waved a hand, and Jowan bolted, ashamed as he was to have to describe it thus. By the time he managed to get himself under control, he had clearly startled at least two templars, both of whom were eyeing him quite strangely. He offered a tight smile, and then slowed himself to a brisk walk, heading ... no where, really.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't like where he was going; there was no way out. Becoming a maleficarum was not exactly for the faint of heart, and he had been given warning to back out long before it got this far. But no, he had plowed ahead, not thinking of the consequences, only thinking that it might help him in his studies, might encourage them to test him sooner. He was beginning to think that they would never test him at all though.

Niall was hiding something; Jowan knew that much. Uldred reminded him every chance he got, every time that the senior enchanter managed to catch Jowan alone, he cornered the apprentice, terrorized him. And Jowan couldn't do a thing about it. Niall protected him if he saw it happening, but since Jowan had joined the rebellion, the coalition of mages wanting their freedom, Uldred got far more chances than Niall knew.

Jowan sighed softly, reaching up to rub a hand over his face, his other hand landing on his hip as he stopped walking slowly. What was he going to do? There was no way he could back out now, not with as much as he knew; Uldred would kill him personally before that happened. Yet, he was never going to get his Harrowing, it seemed, and Niall wasn't exactly the most forthcoming with that sort information. Or any information really, that didn't directly concern either sex or Jowan's studies. Hell, Jowan didn't even know the enchanter's favorite color. After six months!

His head jerked up at a soft noise coming from a nearby closet, and Jowan's face flushed darkly. It was the same closet that he and Niall favored, the one with the ledge built in that was the _perfect_ height--

Jowan looked away, and quickly, he started walking again, not wanting to hear anything more than he already had. Niall's rooms were just ahead in the hallway, and he hesitated just outside of them for a moment, his hand raised to knock. Voices from the other side of the door stopped him though, and there was a heartbeat where he knew he needed to simply walk away. And then it was squelched by the overwhelming curiosity, by the _need_ to know what was going on. Who had Niall arranged to meet while Jowan was on his break?

He muttered the spell softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the templars at the end of the hall, and he pretended to be studying the ceiling, hands interlaced behind his head as he looked up. To be fair, it _was_ a really fascinating ceiling, having been painted at some point to look like the night sky.

But it wasn't nearly as interesting as the _words_ that his whispered spell brought to his ears. Harrowing. Not yet ready. Might never be ready. _Dangerous_. He drew a deep breath, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand _what_ he was hearing. _Tranquility_.

A cold feeling washed over him, a bucket of ice down the back of his robes, and his hands slipped to fall uselessly to his side. He couldn't move, couldn't _breathe_. Niall was recommending Tranquility for him? Truly? His hand clenched, then loosened, and Jowan looked away, breathing hard. Niall _knew_ how he felt about the Rite, that he would rather be dead than made Tranquil. And yet, the damning fact was simple enough to understand: Niall didn't think he was ready; thought that it might be _dangerous_ for him to undergo a Harrowing.

Another moment, and then the door was opening, and Jowan managed to quickly paste a bland smile on his face, a vacant look in his eyes. "Oh, First Enchanter!" He half-bowed, half-saluted, as though he couldn't decide which one was more appropriate. Irving patted him lightly on the shoulder, offering him a kindly smile before he headed down the hall.

Niall met his gaze easily enough, a smile of his own on his face. But it was fake. Six months of watching Niall handle other enchanters had taught Jowan his tells, taught him what to look for. Niall was lying to him, and he hadn't said a word yet.


End file.
